Standing Accused
by iamthelie
Summary: Another Crossing Jordan House crossover. Sequel to Sickness and Health, but it's not necessary to read that first. When the body of the man who shot House turns up in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.
1. Remember When I Told You Not to Visit?

******Standing Accused (Part Two) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter One: Remember When I Told You Not to Visit?  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,175  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.  
**Author's Note:** Okay, I can't really hide behind the "this is my first fanfic" to excuse any mistakes and OOC anymore. That's scary. Still, the characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

Since I can't think of any other warnings to give, on with the story...

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Remember When I Told You Not to Visit?**

"Hoyt," he answered groggily, turning on the light. He rolled out of bed, pulling on his shirt. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes. He heard the words, processing them subconsciously. He was used to this by now. He'd be at the crime scene before he was really awake. He'd never forgotten anything important, though one time he had buttoned his shirt wrong and was razzed for weeks.

Jordan hadn't spoken to him for two of those weeks. It had been nearly impossible to convince her that he'd buttoned his shirt wrong because he'd been too tired. She'd heard the other cops teasing him about his girlfriend; only he'd gone to bed alone that night. Jordan either hadn't believed him or maybe just wanted to torment him about it. She still wouldn't admit to either option.

He took his keys and headed down to his car. Someone had better have coffee at the crime scene. It was two in the morning, and his shift ended at eleven. It should have ended sooner, were it not for Jordan's insistence that his suspect in their last case was innocent. In the end, she'd been right, but their argument had them going home alone.

Woody parked next to the black and white near the front entrance. He was recognized by a uniform, who led him inside the hotel and to the floor where more uniformed officers kept watch over the door to room 513. Some young kiss ass handed Woody a coffee. He took a sip and sighed. It was going to be a long night. "What have we got?"

"Man, dead. Two shots to the chest. Small caliber. Owner of the room found him here, or so he claims."

"Anything on him?"

"Just this," the uniform held up a bottle of pills.

Woody looked at it. "Vicodin? Where's the owner of the room?"

"Over there, Detective," the CSU man said and pointed Woody towards the other room of the suite. Woody glanced in that direction, and turned the other way, heading into the bedroom. He stood over the body. "ME's on the way."

Woody nodded. He drank his coffee. He had two options. He could wait for whoever Macy set over, or he could interview the man whose room it was. He would probably fall asleep while he waited. "What is that banging?"

"That's all pill popper," the uniform answered. "Keeps banging his cane against the wall."

"His cane?"

"Yep. Claims the vicodin is for his pain."

Suddenly, Woody was fully awake. He shoved his coffee at the office and went to the next room. The man on the couch stopped the cane midway through his strike on the wall. "Detective Hoyt. Would you please tell these idiots that I didn't kill anyone?"

"Sure thing, Dr. House," Woody answered. "But you'd better tell me why you're in Boston."

* * *

"Jordan Cavanaugh, I'm with the medical examiner's office," she explained to someone who was obviously a rookie. By now almost everyone who worked in any part of the justice system in Boston—and a few other places, most recently Princeton—knew who she was. She flashed her badge and looked around. Victim in the bedroom, no sign of the detective in charge. She shrugged and went into the bedroom.

"Ow," Woody said, causing her to look up at him. "You would think a man responsible for getting someone a kidney transplant would know better than to poke them in the gut with a cane."

"Wait a minute. House is here?" Jordan said, getting to her feet.

"This is his room. He's in town for a medical conference," Woody explained, not missing Jordan's incredulous look. "Not his choice. Says he had a few drinks with Wilson, came back, found the body. Seems he cursed loud enough for the entire floor to hear."

"Impressive," Jordan muttered. "Are you going to arrest House?"

"CSU didn't find any GSR on him. So unless you tell me our friend here _wasn't_ killed by a gunshot, I have no reason to arrest him. And I'm not arresting him unless I have to," Woody said, leaning over her shoulder, his breath on her neck making her wonder why she had gone home alone earlier. She hadn't gotten any sleep, and if she wasn't going to sleep, at least she could have been—_Crime scene, Cavanaugh. Don't go there._

She rolled the body over. "Woody, did you _look_ at this body?"

He shook his head. "Didn't get that far. House was banging his cane on the wall. Why?"

"Woody, I don't know how to tell you this," Jordan began, "but this man wasn't shot."

"Jordan, please tell me you're kidding," Woody said, peering at the body.

She shook her head. "These wounds _look_ like bullet holes at first. But they're not. I need to take him back to the morgue to figure this out."

Woody moaned. "No. No. No. This can't be happening. Jordan, you have to find proof that he didn't do this. I cannot arrest that man."

"Calm down, Woody. We both know that House didn't kill anyone. I'll take the body back to the morgue; see what I can find. Maybe you should talk to Wilson, see about collaborating House's story?" she suggested with a smile.

"You're having fun with this, aren't you?" Woody demanded. Jordan looked at him, trying not to laugh. "Great, Jordan. Just great."

"Hey," she began, biting her lip apologetically. "I know this isn't easy for you. House saved your life. And he's not a killer. We both know that. So just do your job and I'll do mine. And we'll prove it, because we're the best."

"_You're_ the best," Woody told her, and he smiled one of his Farm Boy smiles. She found herself grabbing him by his awful tie, and they were close, their lips almost brushing.

"Hey!" House bellowed, coming into the other room. "Can I go now? Whatever idiot was dumb enough to get himself killed in my hotel room is _not_ my problem. I want a new room. I want my medication back and I—"

"How long do you think it's been since he had a vicodin?"

Woody dug in his pocket and threw the bottle to House. House caught it, opened the bottle, and tossed back a pill. The uniformed officers and CSU men all stared at him and then at Woody. He shrugged. "Trust me, it's easier this way. Dr. House, which room is Wilson in?"

"I'll show you," House offered. Woody looked at him. House smiled and limped towards him. "Come on, Detective. He's got a mini-bar."

Woody closed his eyes and grimaced in pain. Jordan rubbed his arm comfortingly. "I'll catch up with you later."

"Breakfast?"

"Only if it comes in a bed," she answered.

"Hah," House cried, hurrying out of the room. "They're still together, Wilson. You owe me five hundred! They're still together."

Jordan thought maybe Woody was the lucky one. He was able to leave. She had to prepare a body for transport in front of everyone.


	2. Who Wants to See the Dead Guy?

******Standing Accused (Part Two) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Two: Who Wants to See the Dead Guy?  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,865  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.  
**Author's Note:** Okay, I can't really hide behind the "this is my first fanfic" to excuse any mistakes and OOC anymore. That's scary. Still, the characters may be very, very OOC. It is possible. I have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything I write is probably very wrong. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

So...I'm not happy with this chapter... I feel like the House characters are out of character, and I don't really like the ending... Maybe I'm just being overly critical again. Or maybe it does suck. I don't know.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Who Wants to See the Dead Guy?**

"Cameron," she said angrily, putting the phone to her ear. It had to be House. Only House would call her at this time of night. She'd tried to ignore the phone, but it had been over half an hour and the ringing just wouldn't stop.

"Oh, good," Jordan's voice came over the phone. "I was starting to think I had the wrong number. Cameron, it's Jordan. Listen, I just thought you should know. House found a dead man in his hotel room. Woody really didn't want to have to arrest him, but—"

Cameron sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Wait. House was _arrested?"_

"Not officially, not yet. But he might end up being arrested…Tell me, were you there when House was shot?"

Cameron found herself nodding. But then she remembered that Jordan was in Boston. She couldn't see it. "Yes, I was there. We were all there. We were in the middle of a diagnosis when it happened."

"And you saw the shooter?"

"Yes, I did, but he disappeared afterwards. They never found him. We don't even know who he was."

"Actually," Jordan cleared her throat. "We think we did find him. Boston P.D. does, anyway. They think the man in House's room was his shooter. Except Woody. He's in denial. But that's why I called, Cameron. I think you and the rest of the team should come to Boston."

House was in trouble. Cameron knew that she had to go. She nodded absently. "I'm coming. Where should I meet you?"

"Go to the Medical Examiner's office. If I'm not there, talk to Bug or Nigel. They'll know where to find me," Jordan told her. "Oh, and, um, don't say anything to my boss. He doesn't know about this."

"Jordan," Cameron began, but the other woman had already hung up. Cameron set down the phone and turned on the light. She rose, walking to the closet. She took out a suitcase and began to pack. She had no way of knowing how long she would be gone, but she packed for a week, just in case.

After she closed the lid on the suitcase, she realized that she had better call someone to cover for her. She picked up the phone and dialed Chase's number.

"House, go away."

"It's not House," she told him. "House is in Boston, remember?"

"Cameron? What the hell?"

"They think they found the man who shot House."

"That's bloody great, Cameron. Why did you call me? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"He's dead. They found him in House's hotel room."

It took Chase a minute to process that, and then he demanded, "What?"

"I just got off the phone with Jordan. House is a suspect."

"Are they daft?" Chase asked, fatigue and frustration in his voice, "House didn't care. He wouldn't kill anyone. Maybe a patient with one of his insane theories, but not like that. He wouldn't even tell the police who the guy might have been, and we all know he had to be a former patient or something."

"Jordan and Woody are willing to prove that House didn't do it, but she wanted someone to identify the shooter," Cameron explained.

"Cameron, you're not—"

"I'm going to Boston," she interrupted. "I need someone to cover for me."

"Cameron, House isn't going to appreciate this. He won't help you. He won't help them. And he won't want your help."

"Jordan did say that you and Foreman should come, too, but I should have told her that you wouldn't come."

"Damn it, Cameron. I'm coming. I'm just tired. Have you talked to Foreman?"

"No. I didn't think either of you would come. I just called to cover—"

"You weren't going to tell us, were you? That House was in trouble in Boston? You were just going to go without telling anyone," Chase accused softly.

"You said House wouldn't care, right?" Cameron countered defensively. "If he did, he would have summoned us already. So he doesn't want me. But even if he doesn't want me there, I still want to go. If I told you, you'd try to talk me out of it. Because you think I'm doing this for House, because you think I have feelings for him—"

"It's too bloody early to argue about this right now. We can argue about it in Boston. I'll call Foreman."

* * *

"I am going to kill myself," Woody moaned, coming into Jordan's office. "Walcott wants to push House, to get him to talk. He denies knowing the man he found, but you say he matches the description of the man who shot him. I tried to get off the case, but House _and_ my captain won't let me." 

Jordan looked up at Woody. He was tired and worn, his chin dotted with stubble, his shirt rumpled. His tie was undone, and his eyes were heavy. "Poor baby. Did you bring breakfast?"

He set a bag on her desk. "I thought you only wanted this in bed."

"Yeah, well, neither of us is going to see a bed anytime soon," Jordan said, digging into the bag. She pulled out the doughnut he'd brought her and smiled. "My favorite. Thanks, Woody."

He shrugged. "You mind if I hang out here, pretend you're chasing down a possible lead for me?"

"That bad, huh?"

"House and Walcott in the same room, Jordan. Think about it."

She grimaced. "Sure. In fact, I _do_ have something for you."

He looked at her dubiously. "You do?"

She smiled widely, nodding. "Nigel's still working on trace, but I have for you three witnesses to House's shooting. I figured if our dead guy was really the one who shot House, they could tell us."

"Jordan, you didn't. How am I supposed to explain this to Walcott?" Woody asked, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Jordan rolled her eyes. He was acting like she'd ruined everything with one phone call.

Hurrying through the rest of her doughnut, she followed him out to greet Chase, Cameron, and Foreman. She hugged Cameron, who had just finished being hugged by Lily. Woody exchanged nods with Chase and Foreman. Foreman looked around the morgue with his hands in his pockets.

"So, Woody can take you to see House later," Jordan began.

"Jordan, I am not talking anyone to the precinct," Woody said firmly. She smiled at him. "Oh, no, Jordan. Don't look at me like that. I am not—"

She looked at House's team and smiled, letting them know that Woody only _thought_ he was saying no. His phone rang. "Hoyt."

Jordan put her hands together as Woody walked away to take his call. "So, who wants to see the dead guy first?"

Cameron, Chase, and Foreman looked at each other. Jordan watched them carefully. Okay. This was her decision. "Foreman, why don't you come with me? Chase, Cameron, you two can hang out in my office until Foreman's done. Since this is semi-official, I have to ask you _not_ to talk about the man you see or the case. If you do, I have to separate you."

"Jordan," Garret Macy's voice boomed over the entire morgue. "You want to tell me what's going on here?"

Jordan smiled. "Uh, not really."

* * *

Cameron looked around Jordan's office. It was rather like Jordan herself, disorganized to the casual observer, but with a focus and dedication that would surprise people. It was what Cameron admired most about the woman she'd come to call a friend. She paced the small room. She'd told Chase she was doing it because the couch was covered with Jordan's papers, but she really just wanted to pace. 

Chase looked up from the magazine he'd taken from the pile next to him. "House will be fine."

"I know. Jordan and Woody will prove he didn't do it," Cameron agreed. "It's just… We're about to see the man who shot House."

"Maybe," Chase said. "But we don't know that it's House's shooter. We're here on a wild goose chase. And when House finds out about this, he'll send us all home. And if Cuddy finds out about this, we just might be out of a job."

"Would you really go back if House did send us?" Cameron asked, stopping to look at him. "We told Cuddy we were here to assist on a case."

"And so we are," Chase agreed. "But there's not a whole bloody lot we can do until after all of us have seen the body. So you might as well sit down."

"Chase—"

"My dear Dr. Cameron," Nigel began, coming into the room. "That naughty Jordan failed to inform me that you were here. But I must say, I've missed you."

"Nigel," Cameron smiled at him, glad to see him and grateful for the interruption. She crossed the room to him and accepted his embrace. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm great, love. I've got my teeth into a program now that—"

"Nigel, Dr. M wants you to run trace on our Jane Doe," Bug interrupted from the doorway. He looked at Chase and Cameron. "Hey. Nice to see you."

Chase nodded. Cameron smiled. Bug didn't really sound happy to see them, but Cameron hoped he was. Nigel kissed Cameron's hand. "Duty calls, love."

She watched him go and turned to the entomologist. "Bug. Do you have any new butterflies?"

"I've got quite a collection if you'd like to see them," Bug offered.

"Any purple copper butterflies in your collection?" Chase asked, setting aside his magazine and getting to his feet. Cameron looked at him. Chase was one of the last people she'd expect to ask about butterflies.

"Ah, the _paralucia spinifera,_ also known as the Bathurst copper butterfly, native of New South Wales," Bug said, nodding in agreement. "They're quite rare. Are you interested in butterflies, Dr. Chase?"

"My mother liked them," Chase answered, surprising Cameron. She hadn't heard much about Chase's mother. She knew that Mrs. Chase had died of liver failure due to her alcoholism, but this was a chance to hear about the woman that Mrs. Chase had been. Cameron's curiosity got the better of her as she followed Chase and Bug to where he housed his collection.

Chase pointed to one of the butterflies on the top row. It was beautiful, at first green but also bronze, iridescent in the right light. No wonder Chase's mother had liked them. "My mum used to look for them in September. She would take me. It was before my dad left."

Cameron opened her mouth to ask more, but then Jordan came around the corner. "Ah, I found you. Who wants to be next?"

Cameron looked at Chase. He was studying the display. "I'll go."

"Great," Jordan said with more enthusiasm than the statement deserved. "So, let's get this taken care of, shall we?"

"Jordan, what are you doing?" another man demanded. Cameron had to assume this was Jordan's boss. He was the same one that had yelled at her earlier.

"Me? I was just talking to Bug here," Jordan said innocently. She looked up at the collection she probably passed daily. "Wow, nice…um…butterflies."


	3. Unraveling the Sweater Takes a Single Th

******Standing Accused (Part Two) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Three: Unraveling the Sweater Takes a Single Thread  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,775  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.  
**Author's Note:** While I still worry that the characters are OOC, my faithful (thank you) reviewers insist they're not, so I'm taking out that disclaimer. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, still 100 percent my fault.

I have to admit, I am a Chase/Cameron shipper. That comes out a bit more in this section. And when I started this sequel over a year ago, it was supposed to be a Chase/Cameron fic in addition to Woody/Jordan. However, that hasn't been written yet, so it doesn't have to be...

I meant to post this earlier, but I had computer...issues.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Unraveling the Sweater Takes a Single Thread**

"Three positive ids," Jordan announced, pinning Woody against the wall outside her office. She didn't know where he'd gone while she led House's team back to the room to view the body, but she didn't think it was to see Walcott or House. Woody had probably been in trace with Nigel. "I'm sorry, Woody, but now you've got motive."

Woody looked past her at some young aides who were giggling at the two of them and back at her. "I thought that you agreed to help me prove he _didn't_ do this."

"I will," Jordan promised, stepping up to kiss him. "I'm going to do the autopsy now. I'll let you know what I find…unless you want to stay for it? You're always welcome."

"Uh, I think I'll pass. I'm going to run down the other guests and hotel employees; see if anyone recognizes the photo of our John Doe. I've talked to Princeton P.D. They say they never managed to identify House's shooter even though he was related to former patient of House's," Woody explained. "I've got nothing, so I'll be hitting the pavement."

"Mmm…I almost envy you, but there's a nice body in there just waiting for me to slice and dice," she grinned as he made a face.

"I will never understand morgue humor," Woody whispered. He kissed her cheek and disappeared down the hall.

Jordan smiled to herself as she went to the locker room. She pulled out a pair of scrubs, pulling her hair back into another ponytail. She was about to walk out when the door opened.

Cameron poked her head in. "Jordan. I've been looking for you. Bug told us you were doing the autopsy on House's shooter."

"Yes, I am. I'd invite you to observe, but Garret and Walcott are all over both me _and_ Woody because we know House. It's a touchy legal situation, and we need to nail whoever did this," Jordan explained. She'd been pushing it when she asked Woody if he wanted to stay, but she knew that he wouldn't.

"Well…With House being questioned, and the autopsy…We need something to do," Cameron confessed. Jordan smiled sympathetically. "Bug showed us his specimens, and Nigel wowed us with technology, but we're here to help House."

"Did Nigel give you details on trace?" Jordan asked as she walked towards autopsy.

"A weird substance on the guy's hand, mixed with chocolate from a local confectionary, but he also said with as many outlets as this confectionary has—"

"Never discount the wild goose chase," Jordan admonished. She caught sight of Sydney ahead of them in the corridor. "Hey, Sydney, want to run down an impossible lead? Show Foreman, Chase, and Cameron the ropes?"

Cameron winced. "I think I'll work with Chase."

* * *

"Nigel wasn't kidding when she said this was a bloody long shot," Chase muttered bitterly, trying to make out the next address on the blurry list in Cameron's hands. It wasn't easy. She had painted her nails a distracting metallic pink that caught the sun every damn time she moved. 

"We _did_ make more progress than Foreman and Sydney," Cameron reminded him, trying to be optimistic.

Optimism was hard to maintain in Cameron's presence, watching her do all that she could to please a man that would never give a damn about her. And Chase hated himself for the jealousy, for caring. "Look, we drove up here at two… We've been running on adrenaline. Let's get something to eat."

Cameron started to protest, but her stomach rumbled. She flushed. "Okay. There's a café a couple of buildings up from here. Want to try it or should we ask someone for a recommendation?"

Asking for a recommendation sounded like a date. Or maybe he was too bloody tired to think straight. He should eat. That, at least, would help. It must have been seeing Woody and Jordan again, bringing back memories of House's comments about Chase and Cameron making Chase feel like a bloody idiot, a jealous fool. They'd agreed that it wouldn't happen again, and he hadn't thought about it, not unless he was reminded.

"Let's just eat. We'll need someone to recommend a place to sleep later."

Cameron gave him a funny look. "I thought we'd stay at the hotel where House and Wilson are staying. I mean, it makes sense."

"I talked to Bug while you were looking at the body," Chase explained, "and he told me that the hotel was calling the morgue and everyone else to complain because the convention guests were forced to stay longer, and they're overbooked."

She sighed as they sat down at one of the outdoor tables. Chase looked at the menu, deciding that he didn't care what he ate and going with the daily special. She lingered over the menu, her fingertips catching the sunlight again. Chase wondered if she would mind if he ordered a drink. He knew he could use one.

"Do you think they'll arrest House?" Cameron asked suddenly, after the waiter had taken their order and left. "For murder? Will he go to prison?"

"Not if Jordan and Detective Hoyt have anything to say about it," Chase answered without hesitation.

Cameron laughed. "Chase, how many times is he going to have to ask you to call him Woody?"

Chase really didn't have an answer for that one. He didn't even know why. He was saved from having to answer by the waiter returning with their food. The café wasn't very busy, but then again, it wasn't exactly a peak time, either. He picked up his sandwich and concentrated on eating.

They finished their meal in silence. Chase grabbed the check and paid for it while Cameron used the restroom. She met him outside the café, taking out the list again. "Sweet Dreams Candy Shop is next. It's on this street. I think."

Chase nodded, and they walked up the street. Cameron was window-shopping, or at least _trying_ to window shop. This area of Boston wasn't a retail center, and many buildings were vacant, waiting for someone to lease them. Chase turned away, watching the cars and people that went by them, wondering why he was out here playing detective.

Maybe he was better off _not_ knowing.

* * *

"You're back." 

"Five hundred registered guests and fifty hotel employees later," Woody agreed, slumping down on Jordan's couch. He sighed and closed his eyes. "No one heard anything. No one saw anything. No one knows who this guy is. No one knows how he got into House's room or even how he got into the hotel."

"Someone's lying," Jordan said, coming over to sit next to him. She leaned against him, and for a moment, they just enjoyed being together. He kissed the top of her head. Somehow, it broke the spell. "I finished the autopsy. Our John Doe died of a heart attack."

Woody opened his eyes and looked at her. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

"No," she said with a smile. She shrugged. "If it helps, it was still murder."

Woody rubbed his forehead, grimacing. "Am I cursed? I thought I got rid of the Kewanee curse. I apologized. I _atoned_. What did I do now?"

She laughed, touching his face. "_Nothing_, Woody. These things happen. Especially since you met me."

He shook his head. "Jordan, as much as I sometimes _want_ to blame everything wrong in my life on you, this isn't your fault. What about the marks on his chest?"

"Done with a pocket knife. Specifically, the Allen wrench. It makes no sense."

"If someone wanted House to go down for this, the heart attack makes sense. Why confuse the issue by carving up the body?"

"I don't know. However, I saved the best news for last," she told him with that smile of hers that always distracted him. He struggled to focus on the case. "Our John Doe is no longer a John Doe."

This woman would be the death of him, one way or another. If he didn't get killed helping in one of her crusades or by their chemistry, he would die of frustration after she'd slowly driven him mad. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"Honestly, I was going to wait and let Chase and Cameron have the honor of telling you, since they were the ones that—"

"Jordan," Woody interrupted in a low, dangerous voice, "please do not tell me that you have House's team running around Boston like—the last thing I need is more amateur sleuths running around and getting into trouble."

"I resent that. And they're not amateurs. You know what they do to diagnose patients."

"Jordan—"

"It was a long shot anyways. If you knew what they were up against, you'd have laughed. None of us thought they'd find anything. But they did. Foreman, Chase, Cameron, and Sydney spent the day tracking down the chocolate on the guy's hand. Chase and Cameron found a place, Sweet Dreams Candy Shop I think, where the sales girl not only recognized the photo of our John Doe, she remembered the transaction. He paid with a credit card, giving us the name Jack Moriarty. Nigel's digging up everything he can find and tracking activity on the credit card. He should have something for you soon."

"Good," Woody murmured, closing his eyes again.

Jordan poked his arm. "Oh, no, Farm Boy. No sleeping on my couch. We'll—"

"—sleep when we're dead?" he finished morosely.

"While that used to be my philosophy when working a case, no," she answered with a grin. "As crucial as the first forty-eight hours are, no one is going to think less of you if you take a few hours off to sleep. You know, enough to make it so you can think straight? Besides, you've got more than enough amateur sleuths to handle it while we're gone."

"Cute, Jordan. Real cute," he grumbled as he got to his feet. "Wait… Did you say _we_?"

"Come on, Woody. We both know we sleep better when we're together," Jordan told him, yawning. "And I'm too tired to argue about it, so let's just go, okay?"

He thought about teasing her. Even as well as their relationship was going—four months and no implosion despite the predictions and rumors—she had yet to admit to needing him. But he was too tired to tease her, and right now all he wanted was to take her up on her offer.

He ignored the ringing of his phone. House was going to have to wait.


	4. House v Walcott

******Standing Accused (Part Two) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Four: _House v. Walcott_  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,567  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.  
**Author's Note:** Most of what I know about medicine and forensics I learned from tv. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, still 100 percent my fault.

Never written for Walcott before, but I had fun. House's comment is in no way a reflection on her or the actress who played her. I just thought it was something he'd say.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**_House v. Walcott_**

The clock ticked. The cane tapped.

It should have been taken away from him. It was a potential weapon. But he was a _cripple._ He threatened to sue. She had twenty-four hours to let him stew. Somehow, she didn't think that would be long enough to get everything out of him. Dr. Gregory House would not crack. If he killed the man they'd found in his hotel room, they'd never get a confession from him.

Renée turned from the observation window. "Is the other one still here?"

"James Wilson?" the officer asked. She knew Hoyt should be here. She also knew that he was avoiding her. If necessary, she'd run him down at the morgue. She knew he would be there. "I'll go check, Ms. Walcott."

Renée folded her arms and studied House again. Whatever this man had done for Hoyt, the entire morgue was loyal to him, with one exception. Garret Macy. And Garret was the exception because he'd been on vacation at the time. Renée knew that she had no real case. Just circumstantial evidence. But Jordan Cavanaugh would never let this go.

"Ms. Walcott?" the officer poked his head into the doorway. "Where do you want Mr. Wilson?"

Renée pointed to House. "In there."

"Ma'am?"

She waited. She wasn't about to explain herself to this uniformed officer. She wouldn't explain herself to Hoyt, either, but Hoyt would have done what she asked. The policeman showed Wilson into the interrogation room. House leaned his head back to look at his friend.

"I bet you sang like a canary," House observed, bringing his head back to a level position, staring at the glass.

"Wasn't anything to sing about," Wilson disagreed, sitting down across from House. "Unless there's something you're not telling me?"

"Would I lie to you?" House asked with an expression that made Renée want to slap him. And she wasn't this man's friend.

"Yes." Wilson looked around the room. "You just don't get it, do you? This isn't a game, House. Those are real cops out there. A real district attorney—"

"Not _all_ of her is real," House corrected. Renée forced down the arms that had instinctively gone to cover her chest. She swallowed hard, grateful for the privacy of the observation room.

"They want to charge you with murder, House. They think you killed that man."

"My friend _Woody_ doesn't think so," House said with another smug smile.

Renée sometimes wished that Hoyt had never come to Boston. He was a good cop with a decent record, but his close ties to the morgue were a disadvantage. Jordan Cavanaugh was going to end up costing Hoyt his badge or his life one of these days.

"Woody is one cop, House. If the evidence is against you—"

"That would be why I am also friends with the lovely Dr. Cavanaugh. Come on, Wilson. You really think I offed this guy? _Please._" House scoffed. He tapped his cane. "Shouldn't there be doughnuts here?"

Renée walked to the door and spoke to the uniformed officer again. "Find Hoyt. Now."

* * *

"Hey, Nige. Got anything new?" 

Nigel paused mid-keystroke and looked up at the figure in his doorway. She looked better for the shower that left her hair wet in the early morning air, but otherwise unimproved from the Jordan Dr. Macy had kicked out of the morgue a few hours ago. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

"Woody woke me when Walcott called him in," Jordan explained. Nigel wondered if she knew how much she was saying. "I tried to go back to sleep, but… So, here I am. Got anything new?"

Aside from the new revelations into Jordan's relationship with Woody? Nigel had to change the date he'd picked for the latest pool, but that was hardly new. "I've tracked this Jack Moriarty fellow around Boston for two days before he showed up dead in our friend's hotel room. Not much of interest, I'm afraid. He went to the bank, the post office, and three restaurants in addition to his little jaunt to the chocolate shop."

"Things an ordinary person does everyday," Jordan sighed.

"Only he wasn't an ordinary person," Bug contradicted from across the room.

"Because he wound up dead in House's hotel room?"

Bug shook his head. "Because he was a _fugitive_. The reason they think House did this is because this man tried to kill House. It doesn't make sense."

"You're right," Jordan agreed quickly. "He was acting like your average Joe, not someone on the run from the police. Is Jack Moriarty his real name?"

Nigel nodded. "I've got driver's license photos that match. High school transcripts. Tax returns. If this was a fake identity, someone went above and beyond the call of duty. Icing on the cake, though, is this obituary and the file I got courtesy of Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. Mrs. Moriarty committed suicide _after_ receiving life-saving treatment from Dr. House."

"If House saved her life, why did she kill herself?" Jordan asked.

"And why blame House for her death?" Bug added.

"Well, with a little digging and generous use of Woody's credentials, the detective that investigated Mrs. Moriarty's suicide was willing to give us a copy of the case file. Observe the note she left behind."

Jordan read aloud over Nigel's shoulder. "'_Dr. House told me the truth. I can't live with your betrayal.'"_

She started to pace, trying to make sense of what they had discovered. "So…House contributed to this woman's suicide, her husband shoots House, escapes, and ends up dead in Boston. In House's hotel room."

"Whoever did this somehow knew where to find Moriarty and that House would be in Boston," Bug said. "Which means they know House. And they knew who Moriarty was all along."

"But Chase, Cameron, and Foreman didn't know who he was. The hospital didn't know who he was. The police didn't know who he was," Nigel protested. "How would someone else?"

"All right, we know someone did this to frame House," Jordan began. "So, we have to look for someone who wanted revenge against House."

"Judging from the way he treats his team," Bug observed, "I'd say that's going to be a _very_ long list."

* * *

Woody blinked. "You want me to _what?"_

"Is it that impossible to believe that I would ask you to do your job, Detective?" Walcott asked snidely, her arms folded over her chest as she waited for him to respond.

"When did we get enough evidence to arrest House?" Woody demanded. Unless some major breakthrough had come while he was asleep, the evidence against him was circumstantial at best. Yes, the man had tried to kill House. It was House's hotel room. But that was where it ended.

"When I said we did," Walcott answered. "Do you have a problem with doing your job?"

Woody looked at her. "I have to take myself off this case. I have a conflict of interest. Dr. House saved my life. And I don't think he did this. I won't arrest him."

"Would you prefer it if I gave this case to Detective Simmons?"

Woody shook his head. "What is it you want from House? A confession? Even if he did it and you had all the forensic evidence in the world, you'd never get him to confess."

"Right now, I'd settle for some cooperation," Walcott said. "Think you can get me that, Detective Hoyt?"

He thought the only real way to get cooperation from House would be to come down with a strange and baffling disease, but he kept that thought to himself. "I'll see what I can do."

"Two hours, Detective. And then we have to press formal charges."

Woody nodded and went into the interrogation room. He closed the door behind him and looked at House. House grinned. "Here comes my get out of jail free card. How are you, Woodrow?"

Woody grimaced. "I'm not here to spring you, Dr. House."

"What have you morons been doing?" House demanded. "How long does it take to figure out the obvious? Dead guy was shot. I didn't shoot anyone."

"He wasn't shot," Woody corrected softly. House frowned. "And you could have saved us a lot of time if you'd told the Princeton P.D. what you knew about the shooter. That he was married to a patient of yours. That he blamed for her death. That his name Jack Moriarty."

"Please, Detective. The only reason I still remember your name is because it's so much _fun_ to make fun of. Ask Wilson. I saved the best ones for him," House grinned.

Woody knew he had to do something before he was forced to hear _all_ of the jokes House had come up with in the four months since Woody's kidney transplant. "I've heard them all, House. People have been making those jokes for thirty years now. Why don't you tell me why you never gave the Princeton P.D. any information on this guy?"

"I'm sure I've got ones you haven't heard," House continued as if Woody hadn't asked a question at all.

Woody groaned. Then he looked at House with a smile of his own. "They didn't let you keep them this time, did they?"

House no longer smiled. Woody's grin grew wider. "How about answering my question, Doc? Then we'll see about getting you some of those happy pills."

Woody ducked just in time to avoid the cane.


	5. Forwards, Backwards Next Time Try Sidewa

******Standing Accused (Part Two) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Five: Forwards, Backwards...Next Time Try Sideways  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,894  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.  
**Author's Note:** Most of what I know about medicine and forensics I learned from tv. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, still 100 percent my fault.

I can't think of anything to say about this chapter...Don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing...

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Forwards, Backwards...Next Time Try Sideways**

"…So, question is, who hated House enough to frame him? Was Moriarty just a convenient corpse, or did our killer want to kill Moriarty and chose House as a scapegoat as an afterthought? Or was it premeditated on both sides?" Jordan asked, thinking out loud.

"If you're asking if someone hated House, that's a rhetorical question," Chase said as he opened the door to the lab.

"Just think of how many people he pisses off on a daily basis," Foreman added as he came in. Both he and Chase were carrying cardboard trays loaded with hot, brimming cups with a very recognizable logo.

Jordan smiled at them. "Morning, guys. I see you brought coffee. Thanks. You're real life savers."

Cameron distributed the coffee to Bug, Nigel, and Lily. Jordan had already swiped one from Chase's tray. She took a deep breath, inhaling the sultry aroma. She looked at the final cup that Cameron left in the tray and set on the counter. "Garret might like that. I think he got about the same amount of sleep as the rest of us. Speaking of which it wasn't the accommodations that brought you here so early, was it?"

"Oh, no, they were fine," Cameron assured her. "After all the hotels were booked… I didn't know what we were going to do, but—"

"Don't thank me, really," Jordan said waving away the gratitude. She looked at Nigel's computer screen again.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure we should thank Detective Hoyt," Chase said, rubbing his neck. Guiltily, Jordan recognized the kink from Woody's couch. "That is _his_ collection of robots, right? His apartment."

"You gave House's team your key to Woody's apartment?" Lily asked, causing the others to choke on their coffee. Bug and Nigel hadn't even known that Jordan _had_ that key.

She shrugged. "What? It's not a crime."

"It is if you didn't _tell_ Woody you did it," Bug muttered.

"They needed a place to stay. Woody wasn't using his apartment. I don't see a problem," Jordan protested. "Let's get back to who killed Mr. Moriarty, shall we?"

"Wait. Woody didn't know we were at his apartment last night?" Cameron asked, shocked.

"And that's how it's going to stay," Jordan said loudly, ignoring the objections. "Back to our dead guy. The man tried to kill House. He was found dead in House's hotel room. We all know House didn't do it. We know someone must have framed House. The suspect list on who would want to hurt House is too long. We need to narrow it down."

"If we found someone who had a reason to want revenge against both House _and_ Moriarty, we'd have our killer," Foreman put in, and Jordan silently thanked him for ignoring the whole thing with Woody's apartment. It was no big deal. They needed a place to stay, and she'd known Woody's apartment was free. Woody probably would have offered it himself. It was not the crisis everyone seemed to think it was.

"The connection is Moriarty's wife," Chase said. "She's the reason Moriarty shot House."

"But Moriarty's wife is already dead," Bug objected.

"But her family…" Nigel began, turning back to his computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "Bingo. Emma Moriarty's parents are dead, but she has a brother who's alive and kicking."

"And her brother has a reason to hate both House and Moriarty," Jordan concluded, nodding with a grim smile. "Where is he?"

"That's the part where it gets tricky," Nigel said, shrugging apologetically. "Bruce Miles, Emma's brother, is doing time in upstate New York."

* * *

"I think I'm beginning to agree with you," Walcott said as Woody joined her in the observation room. 

"About House's innocence?" he asked, frowning. His conversation with House hadn't been very productive. House had sat, twirling his cane, and refused to answer any questions, even for a vicodin. And Woody never wanted to hear his own name again.

"For that man to have killed someone, he'd have to _care,_" Walcott remarked dryly. She turned from the window and looked at Woody. "Cut him loose. And remember to be at the courthouse at eleven."

Woody nodded absently, turning to leave. Then he stopped, looking back at her. She smiled grimly. "You forgot, didn't you?"

He had, actually. He'd closed the Killian case eight months ago, long before Jordan became a fugitive, before the Williams case, before he met House. He knew the trial was coming up, but he'd forgotten the exact date. "I'll be there."

Walcott didn't say anything as he left. He walked out, straight into House's cane. He caught the doorframe and managed to stay upright. House moved the cane. Woody caught his breath and looked at him. "I should arrest you for assaulting an officer."

"If you give me back my vicodin, I'll share," House offered.

Woody shook his head. "I don't do drugs, House."

"Oh, right. Your brother, the addict," House nodded. Woody had forgotten that House knew. The medical histories they had taken at Princeton Plainsboro had the information about Cal's drug use. Cal wouldn't understand why Woody enabled House's addiction after being so hard on Cal, but then again neither did Woody.

He ignored House and dug his car keys out of his pocket. House limped after him. "What, I get a ride down here and no ride back?"

"I'm not a chauffeur, House. Call a cab."

"This is the thanks I get for saving your life?" House demanded.

Woody turned around angrily. "The thanks you get for saving my life is me not arresting you for Moriarty's murder. It's me spending twenty-four hours trying to prove you _didn't_ do it. I spent all day tracking down a name you could have given Princeton P.D. months ago. And I just spent the last two hours listening to you make fun of my name. My gratitude is a _little_ strained at the moment. You want a ride? I'm going to morgue. Otherwise, call a cab. 'Cause I'm done here."

"Hmm. I wonder if this was how you reacted when Dr. Cavanaugh was a suspect."

Woody shook his head and stalked off to his car. House limped after him.

* * *

"What are you morons doing here?" House demanded. 

Chase looked up from Moriarty's autopsy file. Cameron had jumped in surprise. Foreman rolled his eyes. They'd all known that House wouldn't want them there, know this was coming—all except for Cameron, who had probably fooled herself into thinking that House would be glad to see them. Chase had always known that House would be pissed, that coming her was daft as hell, but he had actually enjoyed discovering who Moriarty was and working with Jordan and her friends again.

"Someone had to save your ass," Bug muttered as he walked out of the room.

"Then why haven't you done it?" House asked in the same demanding tone.

"It took us thirty chocolate shops to find out who this guy was," Foreman explained. "You want to tell us how you could do better?"

"You could have tried _asking_," House suggested. He started wandering around the lab, poking into the specimen containers.

"Yeah, like that worked," Chase muttered. "You didn't tell Hoyt or the DA."

"You didn't send someone pretty enough."

"The pretty ones round here are taken, mate," Nigel said. "Lily's with Bug and Jordan's with Woody."

"Cameron's free," House observed smugly, watching her blush. "Unless Chase has something to say about that?"

"God, House, let it go," Chase moaned, cursing under his breath.

"Why? It's so much fun beating a dead horse."

Nigel moved to intercept House before he destroyed an expensive piece of machinery. "Let's take this discussion to the conference room, shall we?"

House shrugged and followed Nigel out of the room. Foreman went with them. Cameron started for the door and then stopped, holding it open. "Aren't you coming?"

"For what? To have House yell at me again? No thanks." Chase closed the autopsy file and grabbed his coffee, going over to Nigel's computer. Cameron let the door close and came over to him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking over his shoulder.

"I read Jordan's autopsy report. The marks don't add up," Chase explained. "And I thought maybe it was a symbol or something."

"A signature?"

"Maybe." He shrugged. "Maybe nothing."

"No," Cameron shook her head, admiration in her voice. "It's brilliant."

* * *

"Jordan." 

She grimaced. "Garret. Listen, I—"

"I think it's way past time you told me who these people are and what they're doing in my morgue," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

"An internship?" she suggested. When Garret continued to stare stonily at her, she shrugged. "They're helping with my case. Woody's case. The case."

"So you're telling me these people are certified medical examiners?" Garret asked sarcastically.

"No, but they are doctors," she said with a smile. "Look, Garret, I know it's a little unorthodox, but I owe House. Woody owes House. And if his team wants to help us prove he's innocent, who am I to refuse?"

"Jordan—"

"You have no idea how helpful they've been. If any of them ever decides to stop working for House, you should hire them, really. Just give me a week, Garret. Please. I promise, even if we don't know who killed Moriarty, I'll send them home."

Garret looked at her. He started to protest, but Emmy interrupted him. "Dr. Macy? Renée Walcott's on the phone. She says it's urgent."

"I'll be right there," he told Emmy. Then he pointed at Jordan. "This conversation isn't finished."

"I love you, too," Jordan called after his disappearing back. She closed her eyes, leaning against the wall. They had to find a way to exonerate House. Fast. It was times like this that made her really miss her father, the Pogue, and the way things used to be.

"Jordan?" Woody asked, touching her shoulder gently.

She opened her eyes with a smile. "Hey. How are you, Farm Boy?"

"You know, you've been calling me that a lot lately," he remarked. He touched her cheek lightly. "I'm not saying I mind—House has ruined my name for me—but I'm curious. Why?"

"Because I can," she smiled again, stifling a yawn. "So we thought we had a possible suspect for you, but he's supposed to be in prison in New York. We could take a trip…"

"Not today," Woody said. "I have to testify in the Killian case."

"Already?"

"Eight months." He saw her look of disbelief and shook his head. "I suppose that mean you also forgot about our plans?"

She winced. "Plans? What plans?"

"We made them two weeks ago, before this case. I know things are crazy right now, but this is important. It's a big day for us," he told her. He was giving her that look that was half puppy dog eyes, half pure lust, and her stomach did a flip-flop. "It's our anniversary, Jordan."

Trust a guy like Woody to keep track of that. "You are so sentimental. It's only four months."

He shook his head. "Six years."

She started to laugh, but he covered her mouth with his. She forgot her objections, that they weren't alone, where she was, and was close to forgetting her own name by the time he let her go. "Eight thirty. You'll be there, right?"

She nodded, still incapable of coherent speech.


	6. Funny Where Searches Take You

******Standing Accused (Part Two) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Six: Funny Where Searches Take You  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 2,071  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.  
**Author's Note:** Most of what I know about medicine and forensics I learned from tv. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, still 100 percent my fault.

This chapter was really giving me fits. It did not want to be written. And I'm unsatisfied with it, perfectionist that I am.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Funny Where Searches Take You**

"I think I found something," Chase said.

Cameron walked over to the computer he was using for research. Earlier, he had gotten irritated with her watching his work, forcing her to wait impatiently on the other side of the room. She had considered leaving several times, but then he would mumble under his breath and intrigue her all over again, so she stayed. Now, she leaned over his shoulder again.

"What did you find out?" she asked.

"Look at this. Guy named David Brown, few dozen aliases, but his signature was to carve up his victims with an Allen wrench. He just got out of prison last week," Chase explained. He pointed to the photo. "Apparently, he gave himself that scar on his face, and it was enough to convince the prison doctor that he was insane. A year in a psych ward and suddenly he's cured."

She shook her head. "I don't believe it. How could they be so stupid?"

"Who knows?" Chase shrugged. "Now, I couldn't get all the records, but this Brown was at the same prison as Emma Moriarty's brother."

Cameron looked at Chase. "You think they knew each other?"

"It's possible. I don't know why Brown would kill Moriarty for Miles or why he would frame House," Chase said. "What I _do_ know is the address for Brown's ex-wife here in Boston."

"And you want to go visit her?"

"I'm not daft enough to go ask Brown why he killed Moriarty or even _if_ he killed Moriarty. But I might be daft enough to go talk to Brown's ex-wife," Chase admitted, smiling at Cameron.

She looked at him, unable to stop a smile. "Are you asking me to go with you?"

Chase smiled back. "Is that a yes?"

"This is crazy."

"Maybe. But I don't want to wait around here for another one of House's tantrums. And who knows? Maybe Liz Brown knows something that will help."

Cameron glanced back at the computer screen. "I guess we should tell them what you found."

"It's probably nothing," Chase began, "But let's see if we can catch someone on the way out, Detective Hoyt or Jordan…"

"Anyone but House?" Cameron couldn't help asking.

"Exactly," Chase agreed.

* * *

Jordan should start a club, Nigel mused. A pseudo-fan club filled with people she'd helped over the years. It would be the most unusual assortment of people, but think of the networking. Doctors, lawyers, people of all professions, all assisting in the capture of dangerous criminals and solving puzzles and conundrums that baffled the normal man. There would be branches across the United States and— 

"Uh, Nige?" Jordan asked, shaking his shoulder.

He jerked and looked at her. "Sorry. What?"

"You dozed off. Impressive when you consider you were refereeing House and his team at the time," Jordan told him, grinning. "How'd _you_ end up doing that?"

"Bug. That little traitor ran out the moment House came in," Nigel explained. He stood and stretched. "Where'd everyone scamper off to?"

"Woody and Garret are in court today. Killian case. House went back to his hotel. Said he was going to raid Wilson's mini bar and catch up on his soaps," she shook her head. "Bug's out on a call, Lily is in with relatives of that Jane Doe that came in—nice job on iding her, by the way—Sydney took a call for a suspicious death in a nursing home, and when Foreman heard that the dead woman had a syndrome that usually affects kids, so he volunteered to go with on the call. Chase and Cameron left to track down a lead."

"A lead? What lead?" Nigel asked, frowning.

Jordan shrugged. "I don't know. House decided it was a euphemism. Apparently, that's what the kids are calling it these days."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time you and Woodrow disappear for hours _tracking down a lead,_" Nigel grinned at Jordan's embarrassed flush. "So, it's just you and me, love. What brilliant solution will our devious minds come up with to save the day?"

"Well, our only lead is Bruce Miles. In New York."

"You make the call to the warden, I'll get us a flight," Nigel told her, watching her grin as she jogged away.

He shook his head as he walked away. A fan club for Jordan? A crime solving, Nancy Drew, daring do type of club? He'd had weird dreams before, but none quite like this. He had to lay off those Townsend family recipes.

* * *

"I think we're lost," Cameron said, looking around the visor, squinting in the sunlight. Chase wished she hadn't been so stubborn about borrowing his sunglasses. She was driving. At least if she'd taken them, she'd be able to see. 

"Just because we're crummy neighbourhood doesn't mean we're lost," Chase told her. "Try parking next to that sedan there. The car should be reasonably safe."

"An unmarked police car in this neighborhood?" Cameron asked doubtfully. "I don't think it's any safer here than it would be next to that crack house down the street."

"Aren't you supposed to be an optimist?" Chase teased as he got out of the car.

"You make 'optimist' sound like an insult," Cameron said as she joined him at the rear of the car. She shivered, and Chase put an arm around her. "There's nothing wrong with looking for the good in things, no matter how bad they are."

"Is that why you still work for House?" Chase found himself asking. "Because you're looking for the good in him?"

"Maybe. What about you, Chase? Why do you still work for House?"

"I work for House because it's the only thing I'm good at," Chase told her. He guided her into the tenement and through the garbage in the hallway to the elevator.

When the doors closed, Cameron pushed the button for the third floor. "I don't think I've seen a place this bad since that cop's apartment…when Foreman got sick."

"Most of the people that see House come from a higher income, unless they're clinic patients," Chase agreed. "I doubt Liz Brown has had a decent job since her husband went to prison."

Cameron nodded. The elevator stopped with a shudder and a groan. They watched the doors for a moment, both exhaling in relief when they creaked open. Chase stepped out, holding the left door in case it decided to close unexpectedly. Cameron got out, her nose wrinkling as the smell hit her. They worked in a hospital; they were used to bad smells, but this was beyond the normal scope.

Chase knocked on 3D. "Mrs. Brown?"

"Go away."

"Please, Mrs. Brown. We just have a few questions," Cameron began.

The door opened just enough for the woman to poke her head out, the chain jingling. "You're not cops."

"No, I'm Dr. Cameron. This is Dr. Chase," Cameron explained. "We would like to talk to you about your ex-husband."

"I haven't seen him since he went to prison. I have nothing to say about him," Mrs. Brown started to shut the door.

"Did he ever talk to you about a Jack Moriarty or a Gregory House?" Chase asked before she could close it all the way.

She stopped. "House. Now there's a name I know. Come in."

She took off the chain and opened the door to reveal an apartment in stark contrast to the rest of the building. It was so clean it could be an operating room. Sparsely furnished with only the barest of essentials, the second hand furniture was in good condition and repair. She had candles and books, even doilies, on the coffee table. She'd done her best to make this place a home.

Liz Brown wasn't what he'd expected, either. She looked like a typical middle-aged suburban housewife. She was a little too thin, too tired, without much life in her blue eyes, but she wasn't the addict or abused woman he would have thought a killer like David Brown would have been married to. She ran her fingers through her short, uneven hair.

"Is House dead? Is that why you're here?"

"No, House is alive," Cameron answered quickly. "Why would you think he was dead?"

Brown shrugged. "David was always saying that he would kill House. When you showed up at my door asking about David, about House, I just assumed…"

"Why would your ex-husband want to kill House?" Cameron's question made it sound like the concept was completely foreign to her, but Chase had been standing next to her when House was shot.

"Besides the obvious?" Chase added under his breath, earning a glare from Cameron but a smile from Brown.

"David is impotent. House diagnosed him, and he wasn't exactly sympathetic when he did. Instead of seeking treatment like a normal person, David blamed House for his condition. He later claimed the impotence made him crazy, and that was why he killed," Brown shook her head. This was one bitter woman, Chase thought as she started pacing. "I filed for divorce, too. It's my fault. Dr. House's fault. Not David's. Never his."

Chase looked at Cameron. He had a feeling that the Brown woman had a lot to say, and no one to say it to. Cameron smiled ingratiatingly at Brown. "Do you mind if we sit down? And maybe you can start at the beginning?"

"I was married to David for fifteen years," Brown mused, shaking her head again. "I'll make tea."

* * *

"Admit it, you think this was a waste of time," Jordan said, looking across the car at Nigel. "Even though we got a sob story from Miles about how his sister had nothing to live for—parents dead, convict brother, husband who betrayed her—even though he told us he hated House, hated Moriarty, he as much as admitted that he got someone to kill Moriarty and frame House, you think this was a waste of time." 

Nigel shrugged. "I hate to say it, love, but yes. We knew all that before we left Boston."

"So we wasted eight hours coming here," Jordan muttered, shaking her head.

"More, love," Nigel pointed out reluctantly. "Still three hours left of our drive back to Albany."

She groaned. "I thought flying was supposed to make travel time _shorter._"

"In theory. Six hour drive from Boston, three and a half hour drive from Albany. But then you figure in the time we spent in security and renting the car…" He shrugged again. "Evens it out a bit."

Jordan sighed. She banged her head against the seat's headrest a few times. She couldn't believe how much time they'd spent on this wild goose chase. No, it wasn't entirely a wild goose chase—Miles _had_ confirmed their theory. He just wouldn't give them the name of the man who had actually done the killing. They'd gone over the prison records. Amazingly, Miles' cellmate had been the same man since he was first incarcerated, the same man who was still sharing his cell at this very moment. The warden had promised to interview all of his guards to see if Miles had any other contacts among the other inmates, but she didn't think anything would come of it.

"Cheer up, Jordan. Just because Cameron and Chase didn't tell us their lead doesn't mean they didn't find anything."

"Yeah, sure. They didn't mention the lead, haven't called. Maybe House was right."

"And maybe yours is the only number they have and your cell phone is dead," Nigel suggested.

She frowned and dug in her pocket. Great. The phone _was_ dead. "What about yours, Nige?"

"My state of the art, very sophisticated, next gen's next gen of a phone?" he asked. "Sorry, love. Left it at the office."

"So no one can get a hold of us. And we can't get a hold of anyone. And—Oh, shit." Jordan closed her eyes, an endless string of profanity coming out under her breath.

"Whoa. Slow down, love. Tell Nigel what's wrong."

She heard the concern in his voice but didn't open her eyes. "Woody and I were supposed to have dinner at eight-thirty."

"It's seven o'clock now, love. We won't make it back for that."

"I know." She cursed once more, banging her head against her seat again.

"Jordan, relax. It's Woody. He'll understand."

She shook her head. "No, Nige. Tonight was different. He planned it weeks in advance… It was important to him. Our anniversary. And I blew it."


	7. Talking Doesn't Solve Everything

******Standing Accused (Part Two) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Seven: Talking Doesn't Solve Everything  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 2,559  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.  
**Author's Note:** Most of what I know about medicine and forensics I learned from tv. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, still 100 percent my fault.

Garret is a hard character to do justice to...Very hard to get a grip on his psyche... I did expect more comments about rocking the good ship WoJo, but if I didn't, they wouldn't be them, would they?

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Talking Doesn't Solve Everything**

Garret pushed the button for the elevator, waiting impatiently for it to reach his floor. Days like today, there didn't seem to be much point in going home. His place would be empty. The only thing he had to look forward to was a few hours of sleep before he came back here to do it all again.

"Dr. Macy!" Lily called as the doors opened. "I didn't know you were still here."

_I'd rather be polishing off a good scotch, _he thought to himself. "A day in court means less work gets done here."

"Actually, it's not what I need," she began, twisting her hands together. The elevator closed.

"Jordan?" he asked, following Lily's brisk, anxious pace. Usually he had a pretty good sense of when his rogue ME had gotten herself into trouble, but it hadn't gone off today. He must be slipping. "I thought she was with Nigel."

Lily shook her head. "She is. It's not Jordan. I think she may be part of this, but…"

They stopped outside Jordan's office. Woody sat at her desk, staring off into space, turning her snow globe over and over in his hands. "He's been like that for two hours. Bug and I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't answer us. And I think he's been drinking."

"Have you called Jordan?"

"She's not answering her phone. She's not at her apartment. Not here. Not at the restaurant where she was supposed to meet me four hours ago," Woody said in a low voice. He'd been listening the entire time.

"Do you think something happened to her?"

"I _know_ what happened to her," Woody answered. "She's pursuing a lead. Like she always does. I should have known better than to think this time was different. She had already forgotten about the plans we made two weeks ago…I know she wants to help House, but… She wasn't the same about the case, not at first…I guess I thought that meant this time, this _one_ time…our anniversary…But not with Jordan. Whatever case or crusade she's on will always mean more to her than us."

"Woody," Lily began sympathetically.

He shook his head. "I waited for two hours. I was so nervous. I broke the hinge."

Garret looked at Lily. She shrugged. Woody wasn't making sense. "Come on, Woody. I think you need to go home."

"I'm not drunk, Dr. Macy," Woody got to his feet. "I'm an idiot. I love Jordan. I always will. And her willingness to give everything for someone else is one of the reasons I love her. I just admire the way she fights for what she believes in. I just wish that something was us."

"Where are you going?" Lily asked as he pushed past them into the hallway.

"Home, I guess—to my apartment."

Garret wasn't the only one who noticed Woody's clarification. Lily hurried after him. "Uh, Woody, about your apartment, there's a—"

"Lily, please, the psychology can wait," Woody said. "I've wasted enough time on self-pity tonight. I'm going home to get some sleep and then I'll try to find a killer."

"We think we can help you with that," a man said. Garret recognized him as one of the ones that Jordan had been ushering around the morgue. With him was the woman Garret had also seen earlier. "We just came from David Brown's ex-wife. We think we have our man."

"Who?" Garret, Woody, and Lily asked at the same time. Garret glared at the others, warning them to stay silent. "Who is David Brown? And while you're at it, why don't you finally tell me who you are?"

"Dr. Macy, this is Dr. Chase and Dr. Cameron," Lily introduced them. "They work for Dr. House."

"I looked into the strange marks on Moriarty's body. Brown is a convicted murderer who carved his victims with an Allen wrench after their death," Chase explained. "We went to see his ex-wife—"

"—Who told us that David Brown had a reason to hate House _and_ he was in prison with Bruce Miles," Cameron finished triumphantly.

Woody frowned. Garret looked at Lily and then at the others. "Who is Bruce Miles?"

"Emma Moriarty's brother," Cameron answered in confusion. "Didn't Jordan…didn't anyone tell you what progress was being made on the case?"

"Occasionally they tell me enough to maintain the illusion that I'm in charge," Garret observed dryly. "I think I've gotten more out of you two in the last five minutes than I have out of Jordan in a month."

Chase and Cameron smiled at that, so did Lily. Woody rolled his eyes and stalked off to the elevator. Lily smiled apologetically. "He's had a rough night. Jordan—Oh, I never told him you three were at his apartment."

"Let me guess," Garret began. "Jordan?"

Lily nodded. Chase shook his head. Cameron looked at all of them in turn. "Shouldn't we tell him? I mean, he'll walk in and find Foreman on his couch."

"Don't worry about it," Garret advised. "He's not going home."

* * *

"Where is he?" Jordan demanded the moment she got out of the elevator. 

"Good morning to you, too, Jordan," Lily muttered sarcastically. She grabbed a pile of folders and left the desk, heading towards autopsy. Jordan rushed after her.

"This is important, Lily. I need to talk to him."

"That might have been a good idea last night," Lily agreed. "I'm not so sure it is anymore. And I don't know why you think I know where Woody is, anyway."

"Lily, please. Someone has to know. I went to his apartment, to the precinct, I talked to dispatch—he hasn't reported in. Please, I have to talk to him," Jordan found herself begging.

She hated begging, but she had to find Woody. She had to make this right. She hadn't meant for this to happen—she wasn't sure why she'd convinced herself she'd be back from New York in time for their date, but she knew she hadn't _consciously_ sabotaged the night. She wanted to be with Woody; she knew that. She loved him. Maybe fate was against it—her cell phone died, Nigel forgot his, their flight was cancelled after they'd turned in the rental and then they'd gone back to find that the rental company was closed for the night. They'd been forced to stay in Albany overnight, and she hadn't been able to get through to Woody on any number she called. She'd been unable to find him this morning, and she was going out of her mind.

"He's not here, Jordan. He's out looking for a suspect," Lily finally answered. Jordan turned to leave, and Lily caught her arm. "Did you do it on purpose, Jordan?"

Jordan looked at her. "_Excuse _me?"

"You heard me all right," Lily insisted. "I want to know, Jordan. Did you really go to New York to follow a lead or did you do it to avoid Woody? Because if you did, then…"

"Then what?" Jordan demanded. "Tell me, Lily."

"Then walk away now. Just leave him alone," Lily answered. Jordan's chest tightened at the words. She swallowed hard. "I know he'll forgive you, Jordan. I'm just not sure he should."

"And I thought you were my friend," Jordan whispered, fighting tears and trying to pull her arm from Lily's hold.

"I _am_ your friend, Jordan. That is why I'm saying this. You are so willing to fight for everyone else, to give a voice to everyone who comes in here, but you're not doing it for yourself. Instead of fighting for it, you crush it. There's a man out there who loves you. Yes, he's made mistakes, and he's hurt you, and he probably will again. But if you'd seen him last night…"

"That bad, huh?" Jordan asked softly. She'd tried to make it a joke. Somehow it hadn't worked out that way.

"He was devastated, Jordan." Lily shuffled the paperwork in her hands.

"Lily, I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

"I'm practicing," Jordan smiled a little. "I wasn't avoiding Woody last night, Lily. But thanks for the tough love."

"Anytime," Lily smiled. Jordan left in search of someone who could tell her where Woody was.

* * *

"I want to know when I stopped running a morgue and started running an insane asylum," Garret began, catching Jordan outside autopsy one. 

"When you hired me?" she suggested, shrugging. He folded his arms and studied her. She flinched. "Look, Garret, if this is about Woody, I already talked to Lily and as soon as I find him, I'll—"

"This isn't about Woody. This is about the six people in my morgue that do not belong here but will not leave. People, I might add, that _you_ invited," he told her, still waiting for a decent explanation.

"How did you become a doctor with such bad math skills?" she asked. "I only invited three people to your morgue, not six."

"Maybe your three invited the other three. Maybe Gandhi did. I don't care. I want them out of my morgue, and I want it now," Garret said, taking Jordan by the arm and leading her towards the conference room.

"—Why you failed to tell me you were _arrested for murder,_" the woman's voice came out into the hallway. "I found out because of a _newspaper article._ And you three lie to me; tell me you're consulting on a case? Do you even realize how much trouble you're in?"

"As much as I'd be thrilled to add axe murderer to my repertoire," the disagreeable man with the cane began, "I was never arrested."

The brunette stopped, shaking her head in disbelief. "House—"

"Actually, he's telling the truth, Dr. Cuddy," Jordan interjected. "Woody didn't formally arrest House. Officially, he's a suspect, but he'll probably he downgraded to a material witness when Woody brings in David Brown."

"Am I supposed to recognize that name?" House asked. "Judging from the way you're all staring at me like I've got spots, you expected me to know this person."

"You told him he was impotent. He blames you for his impotence and for the seven people he killed after your diagnosis," Chase explained.

"Oh, come on," House muttered. "Because some jerk's plumbing doesn't work, it's my fault these people are dead?"

"If you look at it like that, this whole thing is your fault," Chase countered. "You told Emma Moriarty about her husband's infidelity. She killed herself. Moriarty blamed you. He shot you. Miles blamed you and Moriarty. Brown blamed you for his impotence. He killed Moriarty. He killed Moriarty. He framed you. And in a twisted way, it's all your fault."

"Ooh, I like that," Cuddy said. "Aside from the killing part, it' s poetic justice that this is all your fault, House."

"Wow, this is fascinating, really, but I have to find Woody," Jordan interrupted. "I don't suppose any of you know where to find him?"

"Shouldn't he be at the precinct?" Cameron asked.

"Or getting a doughnut?" House offered.

"Or walking past the door?" the other one of Jordan's invitees asked.

Garret turned. Jordan rushed out of the room and caught a very unhappy Woody as he tried to escape their notice. "Jordan, wait a minute."

"I've got some things to take care of, I'll see you later," Jordan called over her shoulder as she followed Woody to the elevator.

Cuddy joined Garret by the door. "Looks like we have something in common."

* * *

"Jordan, get out of the car. Now." 

"I'm not moving," she said, buckling her seatbelt and burrowing into the passenger seat of his Chevelle.

"I could just take a car from the motor pool," Woody told her. "Because we're not doing this, Jordan. I—I cannot talk to you right now. And you are _not_ coming with me to arrest this guy."

"Woody, I know you're mad at me. I understand. You have every right to be mad at me, but—"

"I moved past angry last night. After an hour, I stopped kidding myself, stopped trying to deny that you weren't coming. For an hour after that, I was angry. I had a few drinks at the restaurant. Tried to find you. After I hit the morgue, I just waited, wondering what I could do to make you show up or go back and start over…Then I just stared into space, unable to do anything but wallow in my misery and self-pity. Finally, I accepted it and moved on," he told her, gunning the Chevelle to life without the usual pleasure he took in the sound of the engine.

"Wow. Maybe it's just me, but someone who can't talk, you sure have a hell of a lot to say," Jordan teased. He glared at her. "Woody, did you listen to yourself? You just told me you went through the seven stages of grief last night. But that's ridiculous. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you had something to mourn, but…"

"But?"

She looked almost panicked. "Woody, are you…did…Are you—"

"Damn it," he cursed, pulling into the empty lot. "Someone or something tipped him off. Guy reported seeing Brown's jeep here for the past three days. Now it's gone."

Woody parked the Chevelle and got out, walking towards the rundown building, once some sort of factory. She followed him as he entered the building. "I thought you weren't taking me with you when you went to arrest this guy."

"There's no car. He's not here. And whether I like it or not, I need your forensic skills to tell me where he went," Woody answered. He took out his gun and tried the door.

"You could have gotten someone else, since you're obviously still mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you. Being mad at you for being who you are is rather pointless, don't you think?" He entered the abandoned factory slowly, sweeping the room with his eyes. Jordan kept close to him, practically touching him.

"So what were you planning to do if his jeep had been here?" Jordan asked.

"Drive by, call it in, and drop you off somewhere you couldn't get in trouble," he answered, walking towards the inner part of the factory. Between the rusted machinery and pools of grease, his empty stomach was beginning to get a little queasy.

"Really. And how did you expect to do that, Woody?"

"I thought you would do what I asked if I gave you the answer to that question you couldn't finish earlier."

"Nice. Blackmail." She shook her head. "You think I want an answer that badly, huh?"

"Keep joking," he admonished. "I know you want that answer."

"I love you, Woody," Jordan said softly.

"You have a funny way of showing it sometimes," he muttered. "I don't see any sign of squatters. This is a dead end."

And that was when the factory erupted in gunfire. Woody and Jordan dropped into a crouch, making their way to the open door of the foreman's office. Jordan pulled the door shut behind them. "Dead end, huh?"

"Looks like we found where he was staying," Woody muttered as he looked around.

"And I think he wanted us here," Jordan said.

"Why do you say that?" Woody asked, turning to her in surprise.

"Because that lock is broken, and I think I smell something burning."


	8. The Bonds We Forge

******Standing Accused (Part Two) **  
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic  
******Chapter Eight: The Bonds We Forge  
**Rating: PG-13 (I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,679  
**Disclaimer:** I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.  
**Summary:** When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.  
**Author's Note:** Most of what I know about medicine and forensics I learned from tv. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, still 100 percent my fault.

In deliberating how to end this, or at least where to go from where this chapter originally ended, I couldn't come up with a good way to tell the rest of the story...Until I did the conclusion you find at the end. Since it wasn't enough for a separate chapter, this is all in one. I have a terrible time when it comes to the end of a fic, and I was having problems getting anything to work, so... If it sucks or feels rushed, let me know. I may change it at a later time.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**The Bonds We Forge**

"How long do you think it will be before we know if Woody caught this guy?" Cameron asked, watching Nigel run trace on a suspected heroin OD. She liked how no one here assumed anything, didn't just accept a theory without proof.

"Hard to say, love," Nigel answered as he finished, taking off the special glasses he'd been wearing. "We might hear from them when they find him or maybe not until he confesses."

"Which might never happen," Chase added gloomily.

"Hey, now," Nigel began. "Let's be optimistic, people. Woody and Jordan are very good at what they do. Or is this discontent stemming from something else? Like your pal Foreman cracking Sydney's case for him?"

"Hundreds of people are misdiagnosed everyday," Chase answered dismissively. "If they weren't, House wouldn't have a job."

Cameron smiled at Chase, shaking her head. She knew, despite the fact that they'd found out who Moriarty's killer was, he _was_ jealous that Foreman had solved a case of negligent homicide by correctly diagnosing the dead woman's condition.

"Cheer up," Nigel advised. "I think we may have just the thing for you two right here. Police call this a heroin OD, but do you see what I see?"

"There are no track marks," Cameron said in surprise.

"Exactly," Nigel said. "Got a brilliant diagnosis for me?"

* * *

"You never called for back up." 

"Are you going to lecture me on procedure now?" Woody demanded, turning from his efforts to pry the boards covering the windows of the office. When this place had been abandoned, squatters turning it into some sort of home had boarded up the foreman's office.

"I'm not lecturing you, Woody. I'm just as guilty of ignoring procedure as you are. But no one knows where we are."

"Bug was the one who found out that Brown had a jeep for me," Woody told her. "The tip was anonymous, though. Damn it. These boards aren't coming loose."

"My cell phone's still dead," Jordan reminded him. "Are you sure you left yours in your car?"

"Do I really have to search my pockets a _third _time, Jordan?" he asked in irritation, losing his patience. Judging from the heat radiating from just beyond the boards and the light in between the cracks, the fire was getting closer. They were trapped. They were going to die.

"Maybe if we—"

"Shoot the lock? The boards? We tried that, remember? The only way those boards are moving is when the fire consumes them. We're stuck," he swore loudly. "I am such an idiot. If I'd radioed in or let someone else do this or waited until you were gone and I could think straight…"

She came close to him. "So this is my fault?"

"I didn't say that. What I said was, I knew I wasn't think rationally. I knew I should have waited. I haven't slept since Walcott called me in. I should have gone home, gone to sleep, and let the APB take care of Brown. Instead, I insisted on doing this myself."

"Woody, you didn't know this would happen," Jordan began, touching his arm.

He turned back to look at her. "I guess I thought if I caught this guy, if this case was closed, then maybe you…"

"Maybe I _what_, Woody?"

"Jordan, was it just this case? Or were you running from me?" he asked. When she turned away, he caught his arm. "I have to know. Please."

She shook her head. "I wasn't running from you. I was—I thought. I would be back in time. And my cell phone—I love you, Woody. I'm sorry about last night. I _want_ to be with you."

"Jordan, do you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it. Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?"

"Oh, there are so many reasons, but we really don't have time to go into them," he muttered as he knelt down.

"Woody, what are you doing?"

"I may not be able to do all this the way it should be done, but I am going to do this on one knee," he insisted. "Jordan, will you marry me?"

She looked around them. The fire crackled, and the heat grew more intense. "Are you asking me this because we're about to die?"

"No. I've been planning this for a long time," Woody told her. He took her hand and squeezed it. "I love you. I think I've loved you since you first insulted my tie. I _want _to marry you."

"That's funny," Jordan said, her voice thick. "I always thought you were the romantic, candlelit dinner, dozen flowers type of guy, Woody."

"You would have had all of that if you'd shown up last night," he told her.

"You were going to…Oh," Jordan whispered.

He reached into his pocket and took out the box, giving it to her. She opened it with trembling fingers. It came apart in her hands. She looked at him. He shrugged apologetically. "I couldn't stop playing with it. I broke the hinge."

She smiled at him, tears in her eyes as she took the solitaire out of the box and held it up to her eye. She coughed, inhaling smoke and ruining the romance of the moment. She looked at the ring again. "Somehow, I expected a different one."

"That was a friendship ring, Jordan. This _is_ different," he assured her as he slipped the ring on her finger. A loud crash came beyond the office. It sounded like the roof of the building was caving in. "It would probably be a good idea if you answer me now."

* * *

"So, tell us again, love, how did you escape this burning building and almost certain death?" Nigel asked, placing the round of drinks on the table. 

"How many times are we going to go over this?" Woody asked, reaching for his scotch.

"As many times as it takes you to come up with a believable story," Bug answered.

"Hey," Jordan protested. "I thought the part about the flare coming through the office and blowing a hole through the outer wall of the factory was _very_ believable."

"It's about as unbelievable as that ring on your finger," Macy teased.

"Oh, stop it," Lily said, smacking Macy's arm. She smiled at Jordan and Woody. "It's so romantic. A proposal in the middle of a burning building…"

"Doesn't mean it's not surprising she said yes," House muttered.

"Says the man who won two grand betting on her acceptance," Wilson said, taking a drink of his beer.

"Sounds like some pretty high stakes."

"I think Woody's the one who took the biggest risk," Lily said. "He risked it all for love."

"Sounds to me like someone's hinting at something," House observed, looking at Bug. Bug coughed and took a sip of his drink.

"Ladies, gentlemen," Nigel said, standing up. "I would like to propose a toast."

Bug rolled his eyes at his friend's grandstanding. Jordan and Woody looked at each other and smiled. There were a lot of smiles going around the table.

"To Dr. House, for his uncanny ability to annoy people," Nigel began.

"Hey, I also got the guy to confess," House protested. "Without me, you would have never gotten anything out of him."

"If you call that delusional ranting Brown did confessing," Cuddy retorted.

Nigel smiled. "To Dr. Wilson, for his well-stocked mini-bar."

Wilson shook his head as the others laughed. Macy was the only one not enjoying a beverage from Wilson's mini-bar, and while he did his best not to show it, he wasn't happy about it, either.

"To Dr. Cuddy, for being such a foxy lady," Nigel went on, enjoying the flush that spread over her features with the others' hoots and whistles. "To Dr. Chase and Dr. Cameron, for discovering who our killer was and for helping to solve what the police so ignorantly deemed a heroin overdose."

Chase and Cameron looked at each other and smiled. "You know, we make a pretty good team."

"Oh, spare us," House muttered. "We're not putting 'Nancy Drew' and 'Scooby Doo' on your lab coats. You can forget it."

"To Dr. Foreman, for correctly diagnosing Sharon Walters." Foreman nodded, raising his glass in acceptance of everyone's cheers and clapping. "To Sydney, for showing House's team the ropes."

"Thank you, thank you," Sydney said. "Nice to know you all appreciate my skills."

"Oh, please," Bug muttered.

"To Bug, for his cheery disposition," Nigel went on; ignoring the glare Bug gave him. "To Lily, for being that ray of sunshine in all of our lives."

Lily blushed, and Bug boldly stole a kiss with everyone's approval. "To Dr. Macy, for generously allowing us to work our madness—I mean, magic."

Macy lifted his water in a mocking salute, but he softened it with a smile. Nigel looked at Woody and Jordan with a smile befitting a pleased step-uncle. "To Woodrow, who got his man _and _the girl."

"I don't think I can really take credit for the siding that hit Brown when the flare blew out the wall," Woody began doubtfully. He looked at Jordan, who fingered her ring.

"Relax, Farm Boy," she told him. "You _did_ get the girl."

Another round of cheers and catcalls followed their kiss. Nigel tapped his glass to regain everyone's attention. "To Jordan, who always gets her man."

"That's right," Jordan agreed with a wicked smile. She looked at Woody. "I'm keeping him, too."

The others laughed. Nigel figured the two of them wouldn't be staying at this party for much longer, judging from their looks and the way their hands couldn't stop touching. "And, of course, to me, for my infinite genius in discovering the complexities of the criminal mind and—"

"Give it up, you ass," Bug interrupted.

Nigel nodded in an attempt at placating him, holding up his hands in surrender. "What I really meant to say was, here's to us. We're a team, friends, and family. May the bonds we have forged never be broken. May we always stand together, even when accused of murder."

The glasses clinked together, and everyone drank in agreement. The verdict was unanimous.


End file.
